


Oh, But Guilt Is So Divine Like This

by holymalfoys



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Delusion, Fear, Forced Heterosexuality, Internalized Homophobia, M/M, Poor Draco, Religion, church, implied infidelity perhaps, religion is bad, religious nut!draco
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-22
Updated: 2019-07-22
Packaged: 2020-07-10 10:17:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,321
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19904116
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/holymalfoys/pseuds/holymalfoys
Summary: Outside, wedding bells ring.Inside, a tear splashes the marble floor.





	Oh, But Guilt Is So Divine Like This

**Author's Note:**

> this isn't my best; nevertheless, i hope you all enjoy.

The church today is desolate, shockingly quiet. Faces of nameless saints peer down expectantly, judgmentally, silently. Dust mites dance across the empty room as long eyelashes flutter pale cheeks, as bony fingers clasp each other and bony wrists quiver, as blood thrums through blue veins and a heart breaks, begging for forgiveness.

Lips open and close, sucking in air and exhaling murmured words of prayer. Time has come to a standstill, and still the seconds tick by.

The silence is accepted with open arms as a pale head dips. A foot taps the floor, only once, and an elbow shakes.

A door opens. Pale eyes meet the startling silhouette of a brewing war. The silence has been disrupted, the storm has arrived, and still a head turns and a mouth recites yet another prayer. 

~

Green meets grey. Mouths turn up and connect, fingers trace throats, pale sheets rumple.

Lumps are swallowed, words well up in flat chests, and yet it is silent. A body slumps against a pillow, an arm thrown out invitingly. Necks are purple and red, the colours of sin, and it is too much.

A soul turns to its side, and prays.

~ 

Words remain unspoken. The front door shuts quietly, hands are stuffed in pockets, and feet connect with the wet pavement. Breath leaves a nose red with the cold. A head shakes, once, twice, thrice, and eyes close. 

Forbidden images flitter across dark eyelids. A stomach churns, threatens to expel what it contains. Thoughts spin around a warped mind, a voice whispers a name, and the church offers such a cool, cool asylum.

~

Laughter rings in ears. Glasses hit wood, sweaty hands grip each other, and people exist.

The water here tastes different, singed with the taste of something that is not quite right, and yet a mouth curves.

Oh, but guilt tastes so divine like this. 

Eyes meet across the table. A glass is raised to pink lips in a silent toast, a throat swallows, and excuses are made. 

Prayers will be uttered later. For now, though, the devil tempts a weak, weak soul. 

~

Legs are open enticingly wide. Jeans are unbuttoned, a shirt is off, and emerald eyes are blazing.

Come to me, a voice commands. So very godlike, if god was a sinner.

Come to me, Draco.

A body teases the line of desire and disgrace, light as a feather and yet bearing the weight of a thousand sins.

There will never be enough repentance for this. No amount of priests in the world can cure the feeling that settles in a stirred gut.

The carpet muffles any sound as bare feet float over it. A grin is beared, like that of a shark before it feasts on its prey, and a mind begs to know what it means to be fully devoured.

A mouth licks at a pale neck. A hand slides down a leg, a hip is cocked, and eyes flutter closed. A prayer wrestles its way through parted lips.

Oh, but guilt feels so divine like this.

~

Rain batters the window. A mouth dips as though to kiss a cheek, but lifts at the last moment. Sleepy eyes flutter open, and a body straightens.

It’s too quiet. Regret rears its ugly head, fear burns through a mist of bliss, and a lump nestles itself at the base of a throat. 

The door handle is so very close when a voice cuts through the silence.

Why don’t you ever stay?

A fist clenches, fingers grasping at a sweaty palm.

Because you can, you know. I want you to.

A head turns. Tears slip down a raw throat.

No, I can’t. 

Draco, the voice is somber, serious. Draco, you can.

A hand is grasping for the door handle, but a body is slipping. Falling. Crumpling. 

Draco, why are you always at church? It’s not good to go there every day. Draco, tell me what’s wrong, please! 

Panic wrestles at those vocal chords, the vocal chords that are so very godlike. A hand settles on a shoulder, a head ducks. Green eyes are sparked with concern.

A dark hand cradles a pale head to a warm chest. 

Draco, please, tell me what’s wrong. I love you.

Satan grins through broken teeth. I’ve got you now, he mouths. You’ve given in. I’ve got you now. 

God perches on top of the door. His mouth is twisted down, his expression full of disgust. I thought you were better than this, better than chasing temptation and falling for a forbidden fruit, he spits, turning his face away. 

A scream rips through a thorat. Arms push at a chest, flailing desperately, achingly. No, please, I can be better, I am better, please don’t give up on me, please. 

Let go of me! Roars a voice so unlike any he’s ever expressed. Let go of me, Harry, he sobs, and the devil laughs. 

Draco, please… I love you, Draco, don’t go, please don’t go… 

But the door swings open, and a body falls out, chasing desperately after the holy forgiveness he has always been so very desperate for.

~ 

Outside, wedding bells ring. 

Inside, a tear splashes the marble floor.

A white suit is pressed to perfection. A mother fusses over shoes, over flowers, over a body that is never really there, and a prayer is muttered.

At the altar stands a young bride. A woman; the Eve the Bible spoke about. Blue eyes are wide, red lips are stretched into a false smile, and hands clutch a white bouquet. 

Heavy feet fall against the grass of the garden, every step sinking deeper and deeper. Eyes flit across the crowd. A mother presses a back, murmurs into an ear: don’t let us down.

The altar is reached. Weight shuffles from foot to foot. Words are spoken, but they’re all wrong. They taste more like sin than anything else that’s ever come from said mouth.

A hand is gripped. That feels wrong, too; it’s too small, too smooth. Lips meet, but they’re all slimy and waxy and uncomfortable.

A man has married a woman. Perfectly natural, as all things should be. The strangers watching all clap, all sing their praises, but it’s all empty noise. 

There, in the middle of it all, is Harry Potter. His eyes are so very green and bloodshot, his beard so very thick, and the smell of sin drifts off him in riptides. A mouth falls open as gazes connect, all the way until a door shuts and isolates man and wife.

Perhaps the biggest sin is that every human is so perfectly weak, so entirely cowardly that they are drawn towards their destructive tendencies like sinners are drawn to the devil.

But perhaps the biggest sin of all is that nothing is ever quite as black and white as it may seem, not even sin itself.

~

The church today is desolate, shockingly quiet. Faces of nameless saints peer down expectantly, judgmentally, silently. Dust mites dance across the empty room as long eyelashes flutter pale cheeks, as bony fingers clasp each other and bony wrists quiver, as blood thrums through blue veins, as an emptiness in a heart begs to be filled. 

Lips open and close, sucking in air and exhaling murmured words of prayer. Time has come to a standstill, and still the seconds tick by. 

The silence is accepted with open arms as a pale head dips. A foot taps the floor, only once, and an elbow shakes. 

A door opens. Pale eyes meet the startling silhouette of a brewing war. The silence has been disrupted, the storm has arrived, and a familiar emerald stare pierces a heart.

Forgiveness is still begged, but from somewhere else. This time, there is no voice cutting through a mind full of confusion. A heart thumps, a mouth curves up into a smile, and a prayer dies on dry lips.

Oh, but guilt looks so divine like this.

**Author's Note:**

> i wrote this in 30 minutes and cried the whole time. 
> 
> in other news, i have a few more projects coming, if you'd like. 
> 
> thank you all for reading. as always, all rights go to jk rowling.


End file.
